[Illustration: _Irate Angler_ (_waking tramp_). "Why can't you look after your beast of a dog? It's been and eaten all my lunch." _Tramp_ (_hungrily_). "What, all the lot, mister! Well, he shouldn't ave done that if _I_ could 'ave 'elped it!"] [Illustration: SHAKSPEARIAN MOTTO FOR AUGUST 12 "Now will I hence to seek my lovely moor!" _Titus Andronicus_, Act II., Sc. 3. ] * * * * * THE BIRDS AND THE PHEASANT (_After Longfellow_) I shot a partridge in the air, It fell in turnips, "Don" knew where; For just as it dropped, with my right I stopped another in its flight. I killed a pheasant in the copse, It fell amongst the fir-tree tops; For though a pheasant's flight is strong, A cock, hard hit, cannot fly long. Soon, soon afterwards, in a pie, I found the birds in jelly lie; And the pheasant, at a fortnight's end, I found again in the _carte_ of a friend. * * * * * ODE ON A DISTANT PARTRIDGE (_By an Absent-minded Sportsman_) Well, I'm blest! I'm pretty nearly Speechless, as I watch that bird, Saving that I mutter merely One concise, emphatic word-- What that is may be inferred! English prose is, to my sorrow, Insufficient for the task. Would that I could freely borrow Expletives from Welsh or Basque-- One or two is all I ask! Failing that, let so-called verses Serve to mitigate my grief Doggerel now and then disperses Agonies that need relief. (Missing birds of these is chief!) Blankly tramping o'er the stubbles Is a bore, to put it mild; But, in short, to crown my troubles, _One_ mishap has made me riled, Driv'n me, like the coveys, wild. For at last I flush a partridge, Ten yards rise, an easy pot! Click. Why, bless me, where's the cartridge? Hang it! there, I clean forgot Putting _them_ in ere I shot! * * * * * [Illustration: "TURN ABOUT."--_George._ "I say, Tom, do take care! You nearly shot my father then!" _Tom._ "Sh! Don't say anything, there's a good fellow! Take a shot at mine!!"] * * * * * THE FOOL WITH A GUN (_To the Tune of the "Temptation of St. Anthony"_) [Illustration: A LITTLE CHECK]